Martha was sitting at the typewriter. With her wing (which, as we remember, she had instead of her left arm) she was warming up her bent legs while with her right arm she was hitting the keys incessantly. Writing.

The Blue Tiger gave Martha an invisibility cloak as a present. A special one, for the walks around the City of Dust, where he took her for the honeymoon.

Martha fell in love with the gift. She coveted it so badly that she couldn’t even imagine it until the very moment she put it on for the first time. Now, she began wearing it every day. This has become her new ritual.

Every morning, at 5 o’clock, she slipped out of the house and headed, wandering around the city. She managed to return when The Blue Tiger was just waking up.

And never once did she catch him sleeping, although she really wanted to.

Having returned, she settled herself down right on top of the blanket, across from The Blue Tiger, and began to tell him about everything she had found in the city.

“Good morning.”

The Blue Tiger pulled himself up and sat down, leaning on his elbows.

“Good morning.”

Martha was waiting, wiggling impatiently. She needed The Blue Tiger to focus enough to listen to her.

The Blue Tiger reached for a glass of orange juice unhurriedly, and for his pince-nez; he threw his paws behind his head, and uttered:

“What do we have today?” 

“First, appreciation,” she rapped out the long-awaited text. “I’ve found oxycodone berries you tossed into my cloak pocket. Thanks. It was very handy.”

“Your thanks are accepted.” The Blue Tiger got a bit embarrassed.

“And now about the new,” she continued, a little disconcerted, on the next inhale, 

“Today I’ve studied such a phenomenon as the impact of the sun on a human. The impact of a phenomenon has been transmuted into the phenomenon of impact, and it seems I’ve discovered a new kind of addiction. Addiction to the sun.”

“Is it berries talking out?” The Blue Tiger adjusted the pince-nez on his nose.

“Rather, the consequences of berries. And some people who are capable of seeing me through the invisible cloak.”

“Go on.”

“So, Is it from the heat or from the light, I’ve not yet got it, but the human has a dependency on the sun’s rays. Having been exposed to even a slight dose of the sun, they experience the pleasure differently. They begin to covet it. Want to smile, want a shorter dress. Want an ice cream. And ice cream, banana flavor, in particular, is a sure sign of a celebration.”

“I’m not gonna argue,” The Blue Tiger agreed, licking his lips.

“At night,” Martha continued, “We are in withdrawal, green around the gills. That’s why we create during the night. Make things up. Sometimes even get sick without sun. It is addiction. It is painful. Everyone knows that creating is possible only when it hurts.”

“Well, your arguments are reasonable.”

Martha stared motionlessly at The Blue Tiger for another second with burning, childlike eyes. The next instant, completely changing her facial expression, she climbed headlong under the blanket and, barely audible, demanded:

“Now, give me more of your oxycodone berries and I’ll fall asleep. The city is very wearying. It’s difficult, you know, to carry so much dust on.”